​Every week I have the honor of writing an article for the newspaper. Every week, knowing that a deadline is approaching, I begin looking for a theme or some point of inspiration upon which to base my writing. Some weeks it comes easily. An event takes place, an incident occurs, a wonder arrests my attention, or just another episode in the saga of life transpires. The story that I wish to tell is virtually written before my eyes and all I need to do is put words to the picture I see. Those are the weeks that deadlines are non-deadly. 
 
Other times, however, I sit down with my computer in my lap and the blank screen matches my blank mind. I write a few words, hit the delete key, and start again. I forge my way through bad ideas, labor over good ideas that go bad, or work with good ideas that go nowhere. Trial and error, hit and miss, attempt and fail coupled with tenacity and the pressure of a deadline have the uncanny ability to produce an end result. I think that is amazing. I much prefer the inspiration and ease scenario over the brainstorming and labor archetype, but both ends of the spectrum seem to be methods by which I fulfill the task of producing an article.
 
I more frequently accomplish the work that is required of me out of obligation rather than out of inspiration, motivation, and stimulation. This is probably true of most of us. Rarely, if ever, would our employer exempt us from coming to work on the basis that we felt no internal prompting to show up. Few parents release their children from homework or chores because emotional invigoration is absent. 
 
Setting my hand to an assignment seems to draw out the talent, skill, training, and ability resident within. Duty places a demand upon potential, summons the aptitude, and extracts from the gift. Duty actually creates the consistent platform upon which talents can be regularly displayed. Duty demands constant production, thereby not allowing my forte to be undeveloped, unexercised, and unchallenged. Whereas, if I waited only for the occasional inspiration, I might discover that I am less productive and even less creative.
 
Inspiration is awesome. Bring it on! I go to church, to prayer, and to the Scriptures for inspiration. I love a good book, a movie, or a song that moves my heart and stirs a new fresh breath of ideas within me. I muse, ponder, and reflect in hope of gaining new insight and perception. Without the enlightenment, all of my production would eventually be less productive, and the deadlines would be met with dead, non-vital compositions. 
 
I’m glad life has a balance of both. While I am waiting for inspiration, may I be found faithfully laboring in my assignments. And, while I am working, may I be always attentive to the fresh breeze of inspiration that may blow in my direction.

​In 1501, a young sculptor found a huge piece of flawed Carrara marble in a cathedral courtyard in Florence, Italy. Deemed unusable because of imperfections, the marble had been untouched and unchanged for almost one hundred years. When asked to do something with the mineral rock, the young man measured the block and noted the location and size of the flaws.
 
For three years, the sculptor chiseled and shaped the marble skillfully. In his mind, he envisioned the final statuette. He calculated how he would discard the flawed areas, aggrandize the impeccably marbled stone, and fashion a figure out of the best of the rock. Finally, an 18-foot towering image of a young shepherd boy was unveiled. The masterpiece was a bigger-than-life representation of David, the illustrious shepherd who became king of Israel.
 
Michelangelo was renowned for his art during his lifetime and his fame continues throughout the generations. He is reported to have said: “In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.”
 
Michelangelo possessed an amazing gift: to see the greatness within, to view the potential untapped, to embrace the prospect available. He demonstrated an incredible character trait: to chip persistently at the obstacles, to chisel relentlessly at the unusable, to labor patiently against the opposition. He received an honored reward: to bring reality to the dream, to create substance out of hope, to release freedom to the vision. 
 
Each of us may have a little Michelangelo within. The seamstress who envisions the dress when viewing the bolt of fabric, the carpenter who sees the finished piece of furniture in the unfinished boards, the father who sees a full-grown son in the tiny infant in his arms: all of these are examples of that sculptor’s spirit. Anyone who refuses to discard the inspiration in spite of possible flaws has the potential to create a masterpiece.
 
In his lifetime, Michelangelo was often called Il Divino, meaning the divine one. Undoubtedly, the name was attributed to him for his craftsmanship and excellence of artistry. Whatever the exact origin of the title, the attribute of divine is probably nowhere more clearly personified than through the ability to release beauty from the flawed and rocky structures of life. 
 
In the beginning God created the magnificent cosmos from a condition the Bible calls ‘without form and void.’  The nation of Israel was sculpted from slaves while the Savior of the whole world had lowly beginnings in a manger. Joseph went from prison to palace and Elisha transitioned from farmer to renown prophet. And, most astonishingly of all, the Bible affirms that the average man can be changed from sinner to saint by the amazing grace of the divine.
 
Each of us has a rock before us and a dream within. Each of us has the ability to release that dream through persistent chiseling. Each of us can create our own masterpiece, if we will but chip away at the cold, stony, and unrelenting obstacles to reveal the masterpiece inside.

​Life is a series of progressive or upward steps. We are constantly called upon to forsake that which is lesser to press into that which is greater. Kindergarten gives way to grade school; the preoccupation of youth is superseded with the duties of adulthood; the knowledge gained in training is swallowed up in the wisdom acquired by experience. 
 
We are always growing, changing, enlarging. Places that once seemed tailor-made for us become too small as we outgrow the garment of our current stations in life. A parent views the physical growth of the child, which necessitates the purchasing of a new wardrobe, as a regular and predictable event in life. The child’s body reflects changes; his mind encompasses new concepts; his skills enlarge and mature; his potential is released. And, all this is natural.
 
Adulthood comes; but it is, by no means, a fixed or stationary thing. Life is too large to be comprehended in 21 years. Our capabilities are too numerous to be explored within the first few decades of living. Life is a series of opportunities for enhancement. I vividly recall leaving the family home to go away to school. My heart was filled with fear as I walked away from the security of home and hearth. Saying good-bye (even temporarily) to my parents and parting with my high school friends in order to embrace my future was no easy task.
 
I once heard it said that the measure of a man is that he is willing to lay aside the very things that he loves for a higher cause. However, if we become unwilling to spend what we have already gained in order to advance to the next valuable stage of development, we may find ourselves in a stale, stagnant and retarded state of being. Time is linear, not cyclical. Time and history move progressively forward. We age toward death. New Year’s Eve heralds the opening of New Year’s Day. If we fail to appreciate this benefit of life, we relive our past and recycle our yesterdays, spiraling downward into a lack of purpose and destiny. 
 
Whether the past is pleasant or painful or whether the future is bright or hazy, life moves us onward into this great exploration of a broader place. Sweet memories of the past remain while destinies and hopes loom on the horizon yet to be explored. The Apostle Paul stated that he was always forgetting what was behind and reaching forward to what was ahead, pursuing as his goal the rewards promised by God’s heavenly calling in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:13-14).
 
May this New Year find you in passionate pursuit of your destiny, faith-filled obedience to heaven’s mandate, and fearless conquest over every obstacle! Happy New Year 2020!

​The night air must have been chilling; but then, the shepherds were not unaccustomed to the stiff joints and aching bones that accompanied their outdoors, midnight shift. Seldom did any event break the boredom. Sheep sleep; sheep graze; hours pass sluggishly. Occasionally a predator, who was hunting prey in the moonlight, attempted to sneak into the fold. Those extraordinary nights presented opportunity for daring acts of bravery and heroic feats of valor. Dangerous foes, skilled defenders, merited victories: the essentials that make a fantastic tale were told and retold around the campfire during all the other monotonous nights.
 
That night was quiet. The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly. The shepherds heard nothing but an occasional bleating from the fold. Then, suddenly, the sky was illuminated with a glistening brightness that overshadowed the stars and surpassed the moon. Light beams fell to the ground revealing the presence of an angel. The midnight warriors trembled with fear at the appearance of the heavenly visitor. 
 
“Fear not,” the angel proclaimed. “I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”
 
Immediately, upon the angel finishing his announcement, a great multitude of heavenly hosts became visible, suddenly filling the skies with splendor and song, with majesty and melody, with radiance and refrain. “Glory to God in the highest,” they sang, “Peace on earth and good will to men.” 
 
The atmosphere reverberated with sound. The earth seemed to quiver beneath the feet of the shepherds – or maybe it was the trembling of their own legs as they stood in awe of heaven’s glory. And then it was over – the night quiet, serene. But the words of the angel, “find the child” echoed in their minds. They were accustomed to swiftly act at the appearance of a foe. This night they determined to promptly respond to the advent of the angels. They made haste to go to Bethlehem to find the one whom angels had worshiped and declared him to be Lord. He was there, just as the angel had said.
 
The night ended as it had begun – sheep, shepherds, and the chilling night air. Yet, nothing of the rest of their lives would ever be the same. They had a new story to tell. This one was not of the sort that made for campfire tales. This story, with its blinding lights from heaven, angelic hosts from beyond, and Savior sent from above, made an astonishing story fit to be told to the whole world. And told it was. 
 
From that extraordinary night long ago until this now, over 2,000 years of time has passed; but the story lives on. Never had there been a night like that, nor has there ever been again. The tale of the shepherds is preached from pulpits around the world, read from the scriptures during the Christmas season, and embraced by believers who rejoice at the Savior’s birth. 
 
What a wonderful time of the year for each of us to pass on the story! Someone we now might just need to hear that the night – in Bethlehem – was a night unlike any other night!

​The buzzer sounded signaling that the cookies were ready to be removed from the oven. Finally, the last tray! Six hours earlier I had begun the task of making cut-out, Christmas cookies. Oh, the zeal! Wow, such enthusiasm! Gee, the joy! At least, that was the emotion that emoted before six hours of measuring, mixing, rolling, cutting, baking, and cooling 350 cookies.
 
The job was done. The kitchen floor was dotted with flour; the countertop was gummy from dough. The front of my blouse looked like I worked behind the scenes for Emeril Lagasse, Rachael Ray, or Paula Deen. (Sure, these stars of the food cooking networks may always appear clean, neat, and tidy; but I know that back in the kitchen there are some go-to-it guys with spotted and stained aprons just like mine.) 
 
I wanted to sit down and moan. Oh, the ache in my arches! Wow, the pain in my lower back! Gee, the stiffness between my shoulders! At least, that was the physical condition that emanated after the don’t-stop-baking-until-there-are-enough-cookies-for all-the-kids-and-grandkids-to-decorate vigil.
 
Yet trophies abounded. Sugar cookies in the shapes of Christmas trees, stars, ornaments, holly leaves, candles, snowmen, packages, and even Santa’s hat lined the counters, the tables, and the stove top. Diva chefs, match that! I had prepared the way for the main event. Tomorrow the family will gather to ice, decorate, and adorn the shapes. The bland-colored trees will be turned green; snowmen will be decked with a top hat and scarf; and each design will come to life with bright frosting. Our traditional cut-out cookie marathon was made ready because I prepared the way. 
 
“Prepare ye the way.” There is a phrase that all those who are familiar with the birth and ministry of Jesus will recognize. According to scripture, many amazing miracles accompanied that first Christmas event. One supernatural occurrence was connected with a man name John the Baptist, who was titled the forerunner of Jesus. His mother Elizabeth was barren and advanced in age. Before Elizabeth’s cousin Mary conceived the baby Jesus, the angel Gabriel announced to Elizabeth and Zacharias, her husband, that they would have a child. 
 
Elizabeth and Zacharias prepared a way for John. They conceived him according to God’s Word, raised him in the nurture of God’s Word, and launched him on destiny’s course as had been foretold by God’s Word. Although we are not given all the details, I am sure that everyday tedium pulled both parents away from the “Wow, a baby” to the “Gee, more work” stage. Yet, they made ready the path of their son.
 
When his day arrived, John traveled throughout the region preparing a way for the ministry of Christ, the long-awaited Messiah of Israel. Surely the elation of his destiny waned occasionally as it was confronted by the reality of hardships. However, he called his listeners to make room for Jesus in their hearts and lives.
 
John’s ministry can still speak to us this Christmas. Of all the events that shift us from sheer excitement to plain old labor during this season, no holiday preparation holds more importance than opening our hearts to receive the Christ Child. If we do, we will find that trophies will abound. Lives cut out after the pattern of eternity will be decorated with love, joy and peace. Destinies will take the shape of God’s Word and be adorned with blessing from on high. As Christmas approaches – “Prepare Ye the Way!”

​The Christmas season is upon us. My husband and I have begun our preparations for this special holiday. The initial task on our list was the decoration of our home. On the very same day that we packed away the Thanksgiving decor, we pulled out of storage the Christmas trimmings. Boxes and boxes, bags and bags, more boxes and more boxes were carried from the basement closet and positioned in the middle of the family room floor. After a few moments of questioning our resolve, we began the process of transformation.
           
The Christmas tree came first. Our children had pooled their resources last Christmas season and given us the gift of a new artificial tree. They knew our fondness for the holiday and the condition of our decades-old tree, so they presented this special gift unto us. As the tree had come packaged tightly for shipping, we had the task of opening and spreading each branch. After five hours of effort, we had the seven-foot pine unfurled. Tired but determined, we unboxed the strings of gold-colored lights and opened the containers of decorative ornaments. A few more hours later, the splendor of our gift was fully revealed; and we realized that we would be able to enjoy the light and beauty of the gift that had been given unto us for the remainder of the holiday season. 
           
After a well-earned night of sleep, we awakened on decorating day two with revived resolve. Awaiting us in the boxes were decades-old porcelain “Snow Village” houses. My husband had a collection of these miniature replicas of early American homes and stores, and he would yearly set up a display of a small village along with its small pine trees and small figurines. Almost a decade had passed since he had undertaken the construction project; therefore, the gift, which he had given unto himself, had remained in boxes and in storage. He decided that this would be the year he would re-open, re-discover, and re-use his village. After several hours or work, we had the gift on display. The grandchildren will enjoy the panorama throughout Christmas. 
           
Our decorating continued until we had unboxed and placed upon display each Christmas adornment. Candles were set on the sofa tables; porcelain angles were positioned on the buffet; garland was draped on the fireplace mantle; and Christmas dishes were arranged in the china cabinet. Gifts that we had purchased for ourselves and gifts that had been given unto us were each carefully and lovingly opened and exhibited. Our holiday had officially begun.
           
Over the next few weeks, we will continue to focus on gifts. We will purchase, put in boxes, and wrap with great care special items for the special people in our lives. We will select these special gifts with knowledge of the one to whom the gift will be given. On Christmas morning, the packaged and boxed will be opened and will bring unto each a needed or desired treasure. Such is Christmas – gifts given, gifts received, gifts opened, and gifts enjoyed.
           
The prophet Isaiah told of a gift that God had chosen for mankind. “Unto Us” would this gift be given. The gift would initially come packaged as a babe in a manger, but the ramifications of the gift could only be comprehended by those who would look beyond the packaging. On that first Christmas and wrapped in swaddling clothes came the gift of everlasting life. Jesus was God’s gift especially selected with our needs and desires in mind. 
 
Have we opened our gift or allowed it to be stored away for decades? Have we just admired the gift, or have we partaken of its treasures? The gift of Christ, which has been given unto us, has the power to transform and transfigure our lives and our homes.
 
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6, KJV)

​Life has its twists and turns. It has its moments of rest and moments of work. It records its yesterdays while promising its tomorrows. Life is the composite of the moments we live. Who would not wish to relive a precious season knowing that there were components of those special times that we missed and nuances of those memorable events that we failed to appreciate? Imagine how fun it would be if we could willfully jump back in time to relive a moment here or a moment there. But life only moves in one direction – forward.
 
Life and time, being designed the way they are, beckons us to fully live in our present. Probably most of us grew up hearing the well-known aphorism, “take time to stop and smell the roses.” That saying is not instructing us to literally pause a moment but rather advising us to focus our attention in the moment in order that we might fully partake of the treasures that are before us. 
 
I have been taking that advise over this past week of the Thanksgiving holiday. My daughter, her husband, and their children came from Florida to spend a week at my house. The five children, who range in ages from 13 to 22, have full and busy lives that I seldom share because of the thousand miles between Collinsville and Sarasota. This week was the container for my moments. These moments were the container for me to share their lives. These shared lives would be the container for my future precious memories. 
 
I decided to fill the week with many little “roses.” For example, each night I turned down the beds and put small candies upon the pillows. There is nothing like the scent and taste of chocolate to draw attention into a freeze-frame moment. We also shared special Illinois treats that are not available where the kids live: thin crust pizza, toasted ravioli, and hometown-bakery sheet cake, to name a few. Taste buds arrested by a familiar but distant flavor is a great way to seize awareness of the present moment. 
 
Nana’s kitchen was the primary gathering spot for conversations and special culinary treats. Cooked-to-order breakfast and fresh-brewed coffee filled each morning with the fragrance of special love and attention. Thanksgiving dinner recalled into our present the awareness of yesterday’s memories. The decorated Thanksgiving table was a feast for the eyes as it beckoned us to stop, look, see, and delight in the beauty. Thanksgiving mealtime prayer was an opportune time of deliberately focus upon God’s goodness that is always present in the many moments of our days. 
 
I was especially cognizance of the unplanned minutes. I whiffed the fragrance of love when cousins and siblings initially reunited and then later exchanged farewells. I smelled the scent of joy when spontaneous laughter erupted. The sounds of the little grandchildren squealing and the explosions of the teens as they giggled were just like a sweet perfume. The aroma of family wafted throughout the house.  Love has its fragrance. Relationships are a bouquet of unique scents. I spent my whole week stopping, smelling, and breathing deeply so as not to miss one moment.  
 
The week has passed. The holiday has ended. My daughter and her family have returned home. Fleeting moments remain only as reflective thoughts. Yet – somehow – the fragrance continues. Perhaps the fact that I deliberately soaked myself in the perfume of “roses” will allow the residue of the fragrance to abide through all the days, weeks, and months until our next family holiday. In between our reunions, however, I’m sure that daily living will afford me many other wonderful opportunities to stop, smell, and enjoy life’s moments.  

​It takes a lot of work to enjoy Thanksgiving. That sentence reveals that I am viewing this national holiday from one particular point of view. Right? Obviously, I am not the young child who will be called to the dinner table to “chow down” on all the goodies that someone else prepared. Obviously, too, I am not the honored guest for whom the banquet has been prepared. NO. I am ‘The Preparer’. I am the grocery-buyer, pie-baker, turkey-cooker, dressing-maker, table-setter, meal-preparer. And as I already said, “It takes a lot of work to enjoy Thanksgiving.”
 
Years ago, my mom was the host of the annual family Thanksgiving meal. She planned the menu and did most of the cooking. She always assigned me the pies. Somewhere between my teens and adulthood, my grandma taught me the art of making a flaky pie crust. And, when grandma entered the honored guest status, I was the next in line to be the pastry chef. I would bake a traditional pumpkin, a pumpkin chiffon with praline crust, an apple with a lattice crust, an apple with a crumble topping, and a lemon meringue. For many years, that was my contribution to our family meal. Turkey, dressing, and all the sides were thanks to mom.
 
Then the fateful day arrived when mom announced that she was ready to move to the honored guest status. My heart was thrilled to think that my sister, my brother, and I could repay her for all her years of feeding the clan, which had grown from a small two-parents, three-children, and one-grandma clan of six to three sets of married children and their children for a clan of over 50. No wonder she was ready to pass the tradition to the younger. It takes a lot of work to enjoy Thanksgiving.
 
My sister, who is the oldest of my siblings, decided to take her rightful place in the birth order in which authority should flow. Without hesitancy and with great conviction, she decided that she would pass and the I could be the new Thanksgiving family meal host. She appointed me to take mom’s place. My graduation day from pie baker to all around banquet maker had arrived. And with one retirement from my mom and one abdication by my sister, my reign as ‘The Preparer’ began.
 
Years have passed. Grandma has passed. Mom has passed. Many a Thanksgiving Day has passed. Many things have continued. Mom had a copper electrical skillet in which she always made the sweet potatoes. I still use that. The dressing recipe has passed down through at least four generations. I still make that. The wish bone breaking ceremony between the oldest male and the youngest boy is a steadfast tradition. The winner, who is the one with the big end of the bone and who is always supposed to be the child, will make his wish. I still insist on that. And our time of prayer is undoubtedly my most cherished continuing tradition.
 
When mom was ‘The Preparer’, she established the giving of thanks in prayer because her mom held that the main purpose of the holiday was remembering to be thankful. From grandma to mom to me, our family still practices thankful prayers. We thank the Lord that He has graced us to live in a nation that offers a chance for liberty. We offer praise for family and friends. We express gratitude for all the many benefits that the Lord provides for us. And – above all – we give glory to the Lord for salvation that is ours because Jesus did the hard work and became ‘The Preparer’ of the way to eternal life. Jesus prepared a table and welcomes us as His honored guest. Thanksgiving is possible because someone does the hard work, and the giving of thanks is our proper response. As we do each year, this year our family will again worship. I invite you to join in that most cherished of thanksgiving traditions.  

​My vocation as a preacher and teacher of the Bible has afforded me decades of opportunities to present the Word of God in pulpits and seminars not only in my own church but also throughout the States and in many countries. I view my work as both a privilege and an honor. For the past four years, I have had the amazing opportunity to travel to Germany each October to minister in cities around the southwestern part of the nation.
 
Germany has captured my heart. The first year I arrived, I only knew what I had learned from books. From that point forward, things began to change because I met the people. My hosts shared with me their life journeys, their family histories, and their soul ambitions. They took me on a few sight-seeing excursions and narrated the scenes with their childhood memories and adulthood recollections. German history and German experiences converged.  Germany became personalized. 
 
Throughout these years, I have met many more citizens of Deutschland and ministered in many more cities. I have eaten home cooking from home makers in home kitchens. What an amazing chance to be indoctrinated into culture! I’ve sat at the dinner table with moms and dads and their children as the events of the day have been rehearsed. We’ve laughed at life’s ironies and cried over life’s difficulties. German people have become specific individuals.
 
This past year, I ministered fourteen times in twelve days in five different locations. I rode several planes from St. Louis, through Atlanta, through Amsterdam, and into Stuttgart. There were train rides from Stuttgart to Bingen, from Bingen to Frankfort, from Frankfort to Wurzburg. I traveled hundreds of miles by car on the autobahn at exceptional speeds and on one-lane rural roads at a cautious pace. I lodged next to the Rhine River in Rudersheim and toured the 1,500-year-old city of Rothenburg. The still-life snapshots of Germany found in travel brochures became a moving landscape where real people live real lives. 
 
Then, there was the language difference. I speak English – only. All of my hosts were bilingual – English and German. Most of the time, both dialects were included in every conversation. At times, it would take two listeners to make German sense of one of my English comments. Other times, it would take two sentences in English for me to make sense of one of their German thoughts. Then – there was the preaching. Every thought required translation. The Bible originally written in Hebrew or Greek translated into English and then read and explained in English had to be heard in English and then re-presented in German. If that explanation sounds complicated, then I have clearly communicated the complexity of communication that had to be overcome. In the end, diversity of languages did not hinder us, and the universality of people’s stories and biblical truth was communicated. 
 
Germany is the land of automotive engineering exceptionalism, the home to around 25,000 castles, famous for pretzel breads and wiener schnitzel, remembered for Martin Luther and the birth of the Reformation, and historically tainted from Nazi days during Hitler’s regime. Across the world and for almost all people in our present day, everyone knows something about Germany. As for me, the sterile stories of history have come to life through vibrant lives of my German friends, and the vacuous information about a nation and nationality has been transformed by intimate familiarity. Thanks to all my hosts who gave me more than a trip of a lifetime. Germany has become engraved upon my heart.

​I arrived home late at night from a week out of town. My husband picked me up from the airport and drove me home. It was dark when we pulled into the garage. I could only see what the headlights illuminated, and that was nothing more than the road directly in front of me. 
 
Morning arrived all too early. I could smell the coffee as my husband had gone into the kitchen before I awakened and hit the brew button. I shuffled out of the bedroom. He had coffee mugs in hand and was ready to head to the back deck and our favorite swing to greet the first rays of sunshine. Although everything within me wanted to return to bed, I succumbed to his charm and our morning ritual. Outside we headed.
 
I settled into the swing with my eyes barely open. Travel fatigue was causing me to scarcely see anything except that which was right in front of my face. My husband talked about his activities while I was away. I listened and sipped my hot coffee. Before long, his enthusiasm and the caffeine began to work their magic. I opened my eyes and looked up. I looked up and looked around. I looked around and gazed in wonder. Something marvelous had occurred. Fall had come to the Midwest.
 
Just one week out of town, and the maple tree in the neighbor’s back yard had become bejeweled with red foliage. Across the lake, I could see tones of bright yellows and vibrant oranges. The water acted like a mirror, reflecting the images along with their pallet of colors. The darkness of the previous night had concealed the pictography. The dullness of my morning fatigue had veiled the portrait. But there, waiting for me to wake up and look around, was the beauty of the season.
 
All throughout the day, I purposefully observed the many sights of Fall. As I drove out of my neighborhood, I noticed the large tractors and combines in the fields garnering the corn. The air was saturated with tiny particles of stalk residue generated from the harvesting, which triggered many memories of growing up in Illinois and October. I passed the Farmer’s Market and saw pumpkins lining the front of the store. Images of Jack-o-lanterns and pumpkin pies danced through my head. 
 
I stopped at the grocery store where my attention was arrested by a kiosk loaded with caramel covered apples. I decided to ignore the calories and indulge myself with the once-a-year, fall-time treat. I could not go to the checkout line with just the items on my list. I had to purchase a small jug of apple juice and some cinnamon sticks because the season demanded that I fill my home with the aroma and my taste buds with the flavor of hot spicy cider so characteristic of Fall.
 
I spent the whole day with my eyes and my heart open. I thought about the number of times that I allow the darkness of a difficult situation, the gloom of a problematic circumstance, or the night of a challenging trial to make me look down and only see the road in front of me. How often had life made me weary causing me to become so myopic that I missed the beauty that surrounded me? Well, not that day.
 
Ecclesiastes 3:1 states, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.” (NIV)  Thankfully, the morning after my dark night and my fatigue, I awakened and found that all around me was the beauty of the God-appointed season, the beauty of Fall.